Page 20 of Crucible of Chaos

Estevar ignored the jibe. His lack of religiosity–even among his fellow magistrates–had often been the subject of disbelief. His answer now was the same as it had been then. ‘One needn’t doubt the existence of gods to deny that they are worthy of one’s faith.’

But you have revealed something to me, my mysterious kidnapper, he thought to himself.‘A bitter old vulture clinging to the past’ means Agneta is known to you. And that bit about a mule’s tail isyou seeking to remind me that something I care about remains at risk and depends on your assistance.

Estevar tried to stand, until a bout of sudden dizziness made him think twice of the endeavour. Sitting back down, stroking his wobbling legs, he said, ‘You asked how I knew you weren’t a witch and I have provided you the answer. As to why you should pretend? You’ve shown yourself to be someone who enjoys playing games and is easily bored. After treating my wounds, you grew weary of waiting for me to rouse by myself and decided to see if you might trick me when I awoke.’

She took a step forward from the other side of the stable, and now he could make out her silhouette. Slender, as she’d looked on that clifftop, not tall, but a grown woman nonetheless. She adopted a sly pose, but not a coquettish one, which meant she wasn’t relying on seduction as a principal tool for getting what she wanted. An opponent to be wary of, Estevar concluded.

‘I do like games,’ she admitted. He couldn’t see the smile on her face yet, but he heard it in her voice. ‘A rather tedious tournament has been taking over the abbey for quite a while now: roving bands of half-crazed monks are looking for ways to chop each other up so they can claim this abbey for whichever god they’ve decided to worship.’ She sighed. ‘Dull. Inconsequential.’

‘I’m sure those whose lives have already been lost do not share your opinion.’

‘Ah, but see, now thatyou’rehere. . . The vaunted Estevar Valejan Duerisi Borros, pitted against the machinations of those who see themselves as savants as attempt to manoeuvre you around the board?Thisgame intrigues me!’

Estevar thought back to every conversation he’d had since crossing the causeway. He’d never used his full name in front of Brother Agneta or Sister Parietta or Jaffen, but hehadwith the boatman. Malezias had said he wasn’t a monk, although he had been dressed as one– was he this mysterious trickster’s servant? Had she, seeing Estevar drowning, ordered Malezias–who clearly hadn’t been keen on rescuing him–to go out in the rowboat? Then, after Agneta had left him for dead, had she summoned Malezias again, this time to drag him from the courtyard down to the relative safety of this ancient prayer cave?

Saint Anlas-who-remembers-the-world, how many times over do I owe this woman for saving my life?

‘Come, unraveller of hidden truths,’ she chided him from the shadows. ‘Tell me more about myself. I begin to fear I’ll forget who I am entirely at this rate.’

Growing weary of her theatrics and feeling somewhat more himself, Estevar looked around until he saw a pile of folded clothes on the floor behind him. Even in the dim light he could see they weren’t what he’d been wearing earlier, nor were these the drenched set from his saddlebags. She assumed they would fit him, which suggested they belonged to Malezias, further confirmation that the big brute was beholden to her in some way. With renewed determination, he rose and shakily began dressing himself. His plethora of aches and pains made it slow, clumsy work, but that didn’t prevent him from continuing the game, especially since he’d likely need this enigmatic woman’s help at least once more.

‘You were born on this island,’ he said, trying to step into the trousers and very nearly toppling over, ‘possibly in this very abbey.’

That did pique her curiosity. ‘How could you know that?’

‘A simple deduction, given most– if not all– of the residents have fled the island. Only someone with a deep personal attachment to this place would remain when both storm and mayhem are threatening Isola Sombra. Furthermore, you were comfortable sneaking onto the grounds, which demonstrates knowledge of places to hide and avenues of escape, should the need arise.’

‘Perhaps I’m one of the monks myself. Have you considered that?’

He had, but quickly rejected the possibility. ‘A monk’s life is one of solitude and quiet devotion.’

‘I would surely die from such tedium.’

Estevar nearly laughed at that, for he’d said much the same thing to Venia when the monk had tried to recruit him for the abbey. Once more, his balance failed him and his trousers slipped from his grasp, forcing him to bend down and pick them up again.

‘They do possess a great number of books, though,’ the woman said wistfully.

So, she comes here on occasion to pilfer– or ‘borrow’–from the abbey’s libraries. Was that what brought her here earlier? Then when she saw Brother Agneta leave me for dead, decided to play a prank on the monks? How far might such impulses take her?

With painstaking care, Estevar finally managed to tug the trousers up over his hips. They were too long in the leg and a trifle tight in the waist, but he could roll them up easily enough, and there was a belt, which would avoid the necessity of having to do up the top button. Boots and socks were next– the boots were a trifle too big at first, but there was an extra pair of socks which solved that problem. He walked unsteadily back to the fake ritual circle.

‘You desecrate a holy site as a practical joke,’ he said, rubbing away the remaining chalk with the toe of his borrowed boot. ‘Furthermore, you do so with impunity. Not only do you feel at home in this abbey, you resent those who live here. The simplest explanation is that you were born to one of the brethren who violated their vow of chastity.’

‘An antiquated rule,’ she said, but took another step forward. Her face was still in shadow, but the red curls hanging down to her shoulders gleamed in the candle’s wavering light.

‘Most of Tristia’s churches have abolished the tradition,’ Estevar reminded her as he slid the shirt over his head. Like the trousers, it was too long, but he stuffed the excess length under his belt and it worked perfectly well. ‘Isola Sombra is one of the only remaining holy places where chastity is required.’ He paused a moment, then decided it might be useful to probe her resentment deeper. ‘I believe Abbot Venia wished to eliminate the rule, but realising it would cause unrest among his brethren, abandoned his reforms.’

Several seconds passed before she spoke again, and when she did, her tone was suitably unimpressed. ‘A feeble attempt from so renowned an investigator. You wanted to see how I’d react to the use of the abbot’s name to determine whether perhaps I was the one who killed him.’

‘And did you?’

‘What do you think?’

Estevar looked around the dimly lit cavern, hoping to find either his dagger or some other weapon. He feared he would be needing one soon. ‘Given the patterns of speech you’ve employed thus far, I believe that if you despised him, you would have called him “Venia” or referenced him with a diminishing slur. Instead, you called him, “the abbot”, which suggests a modicum of respect, if not admiration.’

‘Wrong again,’ she said, although she took another step closer. Now he could see her face. Derision twisted her lips into a smirk, above the sharp nose, between grey-blue eyes that almost matched the stormy waves, he noted a faint pinching of the skin. She was sad about Abbot Venia’s death– sad, and angry.

‘Well, then?’ she asked.

---